Chapter 2
Again Jim felt reservations. He owed something to Joyce, even though their marriage hadn't been milk and honey. She hadn't cheated on him. Why should he be making out with Sally?
She must have felt his withdrawal, for she turned at once and her arms went around his neck. It was a long, lingering kiss that was filled with a question, a promise and a hope. He got her message but he kept telling himself he didn't want it.
Her lips warmed quickly until they were hot and the pointed tongue traced his mouth. He jerked his head back, but Sally merely laughed deeply in her throat.
"You're not going anywhere, tiger."
"Like hell. Besides, Scott might walk in on us any minute."
"No he won't. For two reasons. He's gone for an hour. I promised you that. And unless he's capable of walking through locked doors-and I have the only key, by the way-then it's impossible for us to be caught with our pants down. My, such colorful phrasing." She laughed again.
Jim licked his lips and then her mouth was over his one more time. She caught him quickly, with his jaws parted and her tongue darted inside. He struggled briefly, but without much zeal, as she shoved her tongue into his throat and then around the sides of his mouth.
She groaned and broke the kiss herself. "Christ, for a man who doesn't turn on you've got a hell of a lot of sex appeal. You're not a pansy, are you?"
"No, but I'm not a cheater, either."
"Like hell. That wasn't parcheesi we were playing the last time we were in here alone." Sally looked disgusted. "God, how I hate you holier than thou stuffed shirts. Banks attract the world's biggest phonies."
Jim didn't have an answer to that shot. She was right, of course. He was hot and he wanted her and he kept pretending that it was all her doing. He looked ashamed but at once she tucked her fingers under his chin and lifted his face. Her lips were cool on his now.
"Come on, bunkie, if you were all bad I wouldn't be in here with you. Take solace in that. I have a certain taste when it comes to men. I'd rather have you screw me than have Scott pouring it to me. That's the truth. I put up with him because he's the boss and a girl's got to look out for herself."
Jim was pleased. That was something. She wanted him because she thought he had more than just a cock and balls. He thought back. "I still wonder what Scott wants. Especially after your remarks about Joyce and our social life."
"Forget him for now. You'll find out soon enough." She put her hands on her hips. "If you don't start moving I'm going to hold up next week's paycheck. How would you like that?"
Jim smiled at her and his arms went around her waist. "You're nutty but I like you, too."
"Goody. Then the next step is logical."
He slid his hands down her shoulders. The sweater was so soft, so warm that it felt good against his fingers. She was still impatient. "Come on, let's go."
"But it's wrong."
Sally's eyes rolled toward the ceiling and then her hands went straight to his waist She pulled hard and the zipper zinged open with a hiss that sounded Mice a snake on the loose. They looked down together at the bulge in Jim's crotch. His cock was looking for freedom now.
"There's nothing wrong with the way your whang feels about our dreadful sinning," she smiled.
"Even so...."
"Kindly shut up."
Jim did as she reached into his fly. God, it was so wonderful to feel her fingers down there! They were swift and sure as they found the slit in his already damp shorts and snaked inside. They closed around his shaft and pulled. It whipped out like a chunk of rubber hose, waving in the fight, its tip already dripping.
He almost sagged but she put an arm around his waist. "Steady, boy. This is only the beginning."
"But we don't have much time."
"There's time enough."
She held his prick in both hands, looking down at it as though it were some rare jewel that she'd found quite by accident. She turned it this way and that and with each turn his prick hardened still more. It was throbbing now and beginning to turn dark.
Then he took her wrists. "I can't let you do that any longer. It'll go off."
"Wonderful, just so you aim it in the right direction."
He pushed her arms to her sides and then his hands were on the sweater. He reached for the hem and pulled it up until the garment was stretched tightly over her breasts. She giggled a little as he had to work to force the thick wool over the protruding tips.
"What's so funny?" Jim snapped.
"You. Looks like you're wrestling with a set of books that won't balance."
He had to smile at that. Then the sweater snapped over her knockers and they bobbed, still clad in their pink bra, before his eyes. Yes, they were for real and they were something special. All of the men in the office talked about Sally's breasts and Jim was pretty sure most of them had had a chance to find out how heavy they felt. Still, he was glad to be a member of the club.
He got the sweater over her head, but not without making a tangle of her dark hair. God, but she was a sexy little thing. He smiled down into her face as he reached around her body for the bra snap. She kissed him as his fingers fumbled at the middle of her back.
Then he found it and the thing sprang free. Her breasts surged tightly against his chest. It was almost a crime that she had to wear a bra. The thing only helped to flatten her great knockers. They didn't need to be lifted. The tips were warm through his shirt as she pulled the jacket over his shoulders and it fell to the carpet.
The bra fell away as she leaned back to look him in the eye. She followed his glance to her nipples. They were large and deep brown, pointed at him like loaded pistols. He knew how hot they were, how hot he could make her if he did something to those points.
So his hands came up, each closing over a nipple. They nuzzled into his hands like a pair of eager pup pies that were looking for love and comfort. He squeezed and Sally squealed. "Oh! Love it!"
He was finished talking. No matter what she said, he didn't want to get caught. He was hot enough that he knew he had to go all the way-and fast.
So he dropped his hands to her waist. That warm belly, white and smooth and only slightly rounded, pushed into his palms. He fingered the navel and she cried out again. She loved to have him touch her and he could make her hot by fondling almost any part of her body.
He worked to her hip and managed to get the skirt open. It peeled away from her hips and belly and then fell to the floor. She wore only her pants and thick-heeled shoes that were now so erotic. Out in the other office they'd looked foolish.
She struck a pose and his prick dipped in a salute. She again grasped it in her hands and slowly she began to pump the thing back and forth.
"Careful!" he snapped.
"Like hell. I want to now. So do you."
"Yes, but...."
He didn't have time for more words. He was going to come any second. Just like that. God damn, so much jizz had been stored up since he wasn't getting enough from Joyce at home. Still he rapped her hands away again, struggling to hold it back.
It was no use. He was beginning to surge.
There was nothing to do but to grab Sally, whirl her around and slam her against the side of the desk. Her hips shot forward with the impact and rammed into his prick. She still wore pants but there simply wasn't time. He shoved his cock hard and it pushed in the thin pink nylon, right into that hole that was -lined with thick dark fur. It was damp and glistened right through the thin panties.
He came then in great spurts that washed into her hole and right back out again. He'd only been able to get his cock halfway in before the pants wouldn't give any more and they were too tough to tear. Cotton, yes; nylon, no way.
He kept coming, grunting with each spurt and feeling his great strength pour from his loins. It curled his toes and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as his crotch gathered resources from throughout his sturdy body.
At last he was finished and then he felt her begin to respond. Thank God. He thought she'd miss out on the fun because he hadn't been able to get her ready. But Jim needn't have worried. Sally seemed always to be ready.
She was convulsing over his prick, at last sucking it all the way in through the incredibly shattered nylon pants. She wrapped herself around him, both feet off the floor and they emptied their bodies into each other.
They barely had time to clean themselves and dress before Scott English, the president of Southwest Merchants Bank, returned....
Joyce was restless. She had been all day, ever since Jim had called with the news about the Englishes. The president of the bank wanted to see him, and Jim was worried and a little hopeful at the same time.
He'd said something about possible social contact with them. Joyce had met them only a short time before for the first time. Perhaps as a couple they'd made a favorable impression.
As she straightened up things in the living room she thought about it. Then she looked down at herself. In the hall she opened the closet door and peered at herself in the mirror. She had to smile, for she was hardly dressed to impress the Englishes now.
The president of the Southwest Merchants Bank and Mrs. English had been very correct at the reception for the retiring employee. Mr. English was the Ivy League type, although since he was in his forties he could hardly fit into Ivy League cut clothing any more. She remembered him as stocky, dark hair graying at the temples, good-smelling cigars that had to be expensive.
Mrs. English had been somewhat younger, no older than in her early thirties, and she'd taken excellent care of herself. A sleek vamp face and figure with long dark hair that would probably reach to her waist if she were to let it down. She seemed bored, except when she was speaking with Jim.
For that matter, Scott English had been attentive to Joyce, almost embarrassingly so, since the retiring old man and his wife were guests of honor. But Joyce hadn't been terribly impressed with Jim's boss. Certainly he looked well and he behaved himself, but Joyce was accustomed to being noticed by men.
She studied her reflected image. Certainly she was no high fashion model in her blue jeans and baggy old sweater, but high fashion models didn't have suburban ranch-style houses to keep in order. Even her sneakers were old and stained from all the painting she and Jim had been undertaking over the past several weeks.
She put her hands on her hips and turned back and forth. She had good heavy breasts that were firm. Even now, without a bra, they looked full and high.
They ought to. At 21 a woman shouldn't have any sag, even if she were well-endowed like Joyce.
The jeans might have been painted on her hips, thighs and bottom. They were tight and low-slung just under the roundness of her belly. She looked over her shoulder and her ass seemed ready to split the tired old seams of the faded and shrunken pants.
She was tall, and she liked that. Tall women seemed to have grace with their strength. She had straight blonde hair that just reached to her shoulders and her eyes could be a blue that was icy or a blue that was glittering with passion. Passion. She choked on her saucy smile.
Passion. She hadn't had much of that lately. She and Jim had been missing in bed and she was worried. How much of it was her fault? Perhaps all of it? Jim seemed to think so, when he was so angry and disgusted after they'd tried to make love. Certainly they had their orgasms once in a while but at 24 and 21 they should have been hitting on all cylinders every time they were on the track.
Joyce was a good girl, a naive girl, a girl who wanted only the best for her man and when he was unhappy she blamed herself. She was his wife and, as such, it was up to her to please him.
She turned away from the mirror in despair. She'd always thought her sex drive was as healthy as any girl's. Heaven knew she hadn't been able to keep her cherry through high school, although she'd struggled mightily. On certain infrequent occasions her moral power had bowed before the needs of her flesh and she allowed herself to be seduced. Still, all in afl, she'd tried to save her best for her husband.
It had been wonderful with Jim at first, but soon they seemed to run out of enthusiasm. Each time they got into bed they did the same things to one another and, when the day came that Jim couldn't make his orgasm, things went from bad to worse.
They were, by nature, both moral and inhibited people and wild and reckless abandon had never come easily to them. Discreetly, Joyce had conferred with a few of her close girl friends and some had suggested that she and Jim try a little mate-swapping. She couldn't agree to that, but they insisted that swapping would make them better, more interesting, for each other.
Experience with another mate breeds variety, new techniques and-yes-even a little jealousy to make one's mate try harder next time around.
Joyce had been firm in her refusal. Then Chuck had to step into the picture and really unsettle Joyce. He'd appeared at her door and she'd fallen much too easily, like a common tart. He'd caught her in a moment of despair and she'd had no defenses. God! Shacked up with the milkman! It was like a cheap joke that a traveling salesman would tell.
Well, that was over now. She wouldn't allow that to happen again. Besides, her contact with another man hadn't helped her performance in bed. She knew one reason why. She couldn't spring fresh new techniques on Jim. He'd suspect her at once, suspect that she was taking lessons somewhere other than in her own bed.
Joyce's friends explained that was a point in favor of open swapping. If both partners did it, there need be no guilt. They would tell and act out their experiences and help each other. There would be no secrets to make one feel ashamed and unfaithful.
Joyce had never dared mention it to Jim and she didn't think she ever could. God, if he reacted the wrong way, their marriage would be ruined instantly. No, they were good, moral people, even if they didn't go to church. They had their Golden Rule, which meant no cheating. No, Joyce promised herself she was through cheating.
Almost as though she were defending herself from an outsider, Joyce crossed her legs and folded her hands over her breasts. She was tingling. Thoughts about sex and men-including that damned Chuck had turned her on.
She returned to the mirror and put her hands at her sides. Then they seemed to move with a will of their own. They planted themselves over her crotch and pressed into the tight jeans, which were already practically stuffed into her vagina.
She drew in her breath and her breasts stirred inside the sweater. The damned sweater, that had started it. She'd not put on a bra because she was going to be crawling about and stretching as she cleaned house. She'd only get too warm too fast in a bra. However, the scratchy old wool sweater had been dragging itself' this way and that, across her breasts as she'd done her chores. The subtle stimulation of her nipples time after time had hardened them until Joyce had found herself in heat. Enough heat to think about Jim, Mr. English and then Chuck. God, she'd even thought back to her high school dates, when the basketball hero had taken her cherry.
She blew out her cheeks and then she heard the soft tapping from the kitchen. Someone was at the back door. She pulled down her sweater, licked her lips and moved swiftly through the house. Get sex oft your mind, woman, she lectured herself.
In the kitchen she looked through the curtain. It was Chuck. Chuck of the tall, strong body and slick black hair. What the hell was her milkman doing at the door so late in the day?
Joyce was afraid she knew the answer to that question.